I Am Not We
by Hans the bold
Summary: Chapter 20 has John and Maureen remembering their lost daughter, all the way back to the beginning.
1. A Mountain

When I was young (or, more properly, "Ven I vas yung!") I always enjoyed watching good old Lost in Space. I knew even then what I know now; namely that the show, as drama or even an adventure series, was a disaster that rivaled, at times, even the legendary Ed Wood (not that this is necessarily a bad thing, mind you). But there has always been a certain magic about Lost in Space, something that draws people in, even today. Much of this lies in the chemistry that grew between Will, Dr. Smith and the Robot, whose adventures, however ridiculous (or perhaps because they were ridiculous), were always entertaining. And in part I think it is the chemistry that existed among the Robinsons themselves, who despite giant talking carrots and space Vikings and androids that recited "Crush! Kill! Destroy!" endlessly, still managed to be a family, a good family whose members stood together in the face of awful scripts and bad sets and space monsters and villains of the most appalling kind, and because they still managed to be characters that we cared about from one week to the next, with a degree of sympathy that is often not present in many modern television shows. There was a sense of the frontier to Lost in Space, and an always unanswered hope that the Robinsons would get home safely, that we the audience would be allowed to welcome them back.  
  
The scripts were, for the most part, pretty awful (Oh, the pain!), and I remember thinking even as a star-struck lad that there was so much more that could be done with the show, that serious stories of real human growth and drama could be written about the Robinsons, Major West, Dr. Smith and the Robot. I was of course too young in those days to write such stories myself, but since I still enjoy the show so much I thought it would be nice to pay homage to it with a bit of fan fiction to show what I think it could have been.  
  
I of course do not own the rights to these characters; presumably they are held by some Hollywood bigwigs. The title will hopefully make sense by the end of the story, and to be true to the original series, I will post this in sections, complete with cliffhangers.  
  
A Mountain  
  
* * *  
  
Even on quiet days, the earth would rumble.  
  
There were reasons for this, of course. The planet had not one moon but two, and these moons were large and orbited close, pulling constantly at the thin crust of their mother with immense tidal power, splitting it in places to evoke massive volcanoes whose magma flowed red hot into the seas, burning the water into steam that could cloud the sky for days. Faults cut across the crust, shifting by their own motion and the unending tug of the moons, and as they did the earthquakes came again and again.  
  
It could be a violent, uncertain place.  
  
This was disconcerting at first. The seven who had come here, their single ship limping from star system to star system, were accustomed to a quieter world, a gentler world, and even after years away they all still measured each new planet by the standards of home, even if they were not aware that they did.  
  
Many things were measured that way, and it could be hard sometimes.  
  
For each of them, and for all.  
  
Home. Blue and white and green, beckoning to them from far away.  
  
#  
  
Dr. Zachery Smith made his way carefully through the boulder field. It was a hot day, the sun beating down hard, the ground itself reflecting the heat back up at him. The valley below had shaken this morning, back near the Jupiter II, snapping him awake from a night of well earned rest. The others, of course, had gone back to sleep, but this was always difficult for him and so he had simply lain in bed, wondering when one of the planet's fault lines was going to open up beneath the ship and swallow them whole.  
  
He had mentioned this to Dr. Robinson soon after they had arrived, but his complaints and fears had been dismissed.  
  
What a fool Robinson was. There was danger everywhere and he always chose to ignore it. Had he learned nothing from all these years in space?  
  
The others were no better. Fools. And he, Dr. Zachery Smith, was forced to endure their constant clattering cacophony as they worked on the ship or the chariot, always expecting him to do more chores than any ten men were able, always expecting him to submit to their incessant demands and petty little needs.  
  
Bah! Fools, all of them.  
  
Well, perhaps not all. There had been a time when William had been a good boy, had been easy to manipulate, and had been clever enough to help him figure ways out of some dangerous snarls. And it was impossible not to simply adore little Penny, so sweet and innocent. But they were the only ones of the whole Robinson clan who were worth the time of day, and even now, as they grew older, Zachery Smith was discovering that it was harder to get them to do what he wanted; and the older Robinsons and that absolutely brash and callous barbarian Major West were simply too much to be tolerated sometimes.  
  
Oh, the pain of it!  
  
The boulder field ended as the terrain grew steeper, and Smith took a moment to rest. They would miss him soon, and being the nosy, irritating little people they were they would probably come looking for him, with that bubble-headed booby of a robot sniffing him out with its environmental sensors or some such rubbish. Better move on before that happened.  
  
He rose, his legs and back sore from walking, and continued.  
  
#  
  
Smith knew the cave would be here somewhere. The Gaklak had assured him of it, and Gaklaks never lied. They never told the truth, either, or so it was said, but you could always get most of the truth out of them with a hefty bribe. In this case the bribe had been three of the Jupiter II's plasma convectors, which the Robinsons had yet to miss. They would soon enough, of course, as soon as Dr. Robinson and Major West did the six month maintenance check.  
  
But by that time, if all went well, it wouldn't matter. He, Dr. Zachery Smith, would be on his way back to Earth.  
  
Back to home. 


	2. The Cavern

The Cavern  
  
* * *  
  
Yes, Gaklaks never lied. The cavern entrance was here.  
  
It wouldn't be long now.  
  
#  
  
"Starship? Yes, oh yes. Starship there."  
  
"And charts? Charts to Earth?"  
  
"To Earth? Such a little world, so unimportant. Gaklaks have not been there. Too many wars; the humans too untrustworthy."  
  
He had nodded.  
  
"Yes, yes, I know. Terrible people, those humans. Can't be trusted. Not even one of them. But are there charts to Earth?"  
  
"These plasma convectors, they are old. They still work?"  
  
"My good man! Of course they do! They have the Dr. Zachery Smith absolute and total guarantee!"  
  
The Gaklak had watched him for a moment through its wide, round eyes. It did not blink because it had no eyelids.  
  
"See. I see," it said.  
  
Smith had watched the thing back. "So? Yes? Well?"  
  
The Gaklak hissed.  
  
"Yes, well. What you seek is there, in the mountain. In the cave. A starship."  
  
"And charts? To Earth?"  
  
It watched him.  
  
"Yes. Very good. To Earth."  
  
"Excellent, my good man. Do tell me more."  
  
#  
  
Yes, excellent!  
  
He had feared that the entrance would be small, claustrophobic, but it was not; rather it yawned huge, inviting.  
  
Huge enough for a starship.  
  
All I ask is starship, to take me away from here.  
  
Smith stepped inside.  
  
He had brought a flashlight and a laser pistol; now he turned the former on and drew the latter. It shouldn't be hard to find, this starship. Just a quick search before lunch, and then he would have it and his reliance on the Robinsons would be over.  
  
In his head, he began to construct the explanation he would give to Alpha Control.  
  
A terrible tragedy. I was aboard the Jupiter II, making a last check, when I was assaulted by a man posing as a guard. He was a big man, and I remember that he said something about sabotage as he tied me up and shoved me into a storage locker on the lower deck. I tried to resist, of course, but he was well trained and I was rendered helpless. Doubtless he escaped the ship before launch, free to tell the world his lies that it was I who was responsible for the disaster that followed.  
  
When I returned to consciousness the Jupiter II had already launched. With great effort I was able to free myself of my bonds. Quickly I revived Major West and the Robinsons, but it was too late. The Robot had been reprogrammed, and it nearly destroyed the ship. Only when we had regained control did we realize that we were lost.  
  
This is so painful for me to recount! Through the years that followed I grew to love the Robinsons, you see, and they me. Major West was like a younger brother, the dear children like my own. We were together, lost in space, for all those years, and then there came that terrible day, that awful, terrible day, when we attacked and I alone escaped. They were gone, the beloved Robinsons, the manly Major West, and I was left alone to seek my way home. Oh, how many nights have I lain awake, wishing only that I might have been slain instead, that they might live!  
  
Oh, the pain! The pain! Please forgive my tears, gentlemen. They are the tears of a man who has lost those who he loved most dearly. I pray that none of you, none of you at all, ever have to endure such tears.  
  
Smith smiled as he moved deeper into the cave, the beam from his flashlight cutting a swath in the darkness. Yes, he thought, that story would do nicely. Enough truth that what they knew back on Earth would only support his tale. And he would be a hero, the one man who had returned from the tragic, ill-fated Jupiter II mission.  
  
Off to one side, he heard a rock fall.  
  
#  
  
He spun. The light from his flashlight danced nervously over the rock wall.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Who's there?" he called.  
  
Silence.  
  
A moment passed and he stood perfectly still.  
  
It was only a rock. It probably fell because your footsteps disturbed it. Or there was some motion of the ground; that's always happening here. It's nothing. Go on.  
  
But fear ate at Smith and he still hesitated. He had seen too many monsters in caves to be comfortable now. He tightened his grip on his laser and played his light over the wall again.  
  
"Who's there?" he called again.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move.  
  
It was fast, zipping across the floor of the cavern, then out of sight. He had only caught a glimpse of it, just a glimpse, but that was enough. Terror, sudden and real and familiar, caught him.  
  
The Gaklak hadn't said the starship would be guarded. Then again, it hadn't said it wouldn't be.  
  
Ridiculous aliens! Why couldn't they just behave like reasonable people and do what he wanted them to do?  
  
He pointed the light and the laser at the place he had seen motion, his hands trembling.  
  
"Who's there?" he called a third time.  
  
Something jumped up then, atop a large boulder just a few meters away. The light from his flashlight came over it and held.  
  
It wasn't big; perhaps the size of a dog, but it wasn't a dog, not at all. Rather, it had eight limbs, all in two rows down its sides, four legs and four arms, and its body was covered with dark spines that seemed to soak up the light from his flashlight. On what it had for a face, three red eyes stared at him.  
  
"Stay back!" Smith cried, raising his laser at the thing. "I'm warning you!"  
  
Just then it jumped from the boulder to the ground.  
  
Smith screamed in panic, fired. The beam caught the creature in the side, spun it around, its howl of pain matching his own scream as it rolled.  
  
And then it was plunged into darkness as Smith ran back the way he had come, his shrieks echoing through the cavern. 


	3. Deutronium

Deutronium  
  
* * *  
  
Dr. John Robinson was a man unaccustomed to failure. This was evident in his bearing, in the way he held himself and the way he talked and the way he listened. The results were evident too; John could proudly point to achievements dating, one after another, all the way back into his childhood.  
  
It hadn't been an easy childhood, of course. His family had always danced on the edge of poverty and he could still remember wearing the hand-me-downs of his older brothers, could still remember the taunts from his first day at school, could still remember the stinging pain of the bloody nose from his first encounter with a playground bully. More than this John Robinson could still recall vividly the shame his mother wore the day she had been forced to pay for the week's groceries with food stamps.  
  
Yet as he reflected back on his youth, John would still smile, because he had not folded to the pressure but rather had risen against it. His old clothes taught him the lesson that things were less important than achievements, because the latter were a part of you, the former ephemeral. His early bloody noses taught him that success takes patience and dedication, and that it is not the battle that you must win but the war.  
  
And the shame of poverty taught him that shame must be avoided. You must always win, he learned to tell himself, whatever the game. Less than perfect is not good enough and will never be good enough, and once you set a goal you must never stop until you have achieved it.  
  
Never.  
  
#  
  
He was setting up the drill now, adjusting it as Don checked the scanner. The two men spoke little; drilling for deutronium had long ago become such habit that there was little need for words.  
  
The scanner had indicated a rich vein. With any luck they would have enough fuel to run the Jupiter II for months on this find alone.  
  
Success.  
  
John remembered now, as the drill bit into the soft dirt and then penetrated the rock below. Alpha Control. The first photos from Alpha Centauri, photos of new worlds, ripe for colonization. But to John these were more than just worlds; they were challenges, and on that day he set himself the goal of being the first there.  
  
It was an audacious goal. But this was John Robinson. He was aware, of course, that the Earth was overcrowded, overexploited. He was aware that competition for the Jupiter Program would be steep. But thoughts of failure did not come; in their place he simply worked himself hard, and worked his family hard, never doubting that they would be selected to be the first family in space.  
  
And he knew, also, the potential of his wife, of their children. Smart, able. Even as they socialized with the other Jupiter Program families, with the Allens and the Simpsons and the Raels, he was always comparing himself to them, his family to theirs. He had liked them all well enough; they were all well motivated, intelligent, well suited to the rigors of a new world. They would make good friends and colleagues on Alpha Centauri.  
  
But his family would be the first.  
  
#  
  
"Got it," Don said.  
  
John shut down the drill, engaged the pump.  
  
"Looks good," he answered.  
  
The pilot nodded. "Enough to last quite a while."  
  
They checked the equipment a last time and then returned to the Chariot to rest. Don was a good man, a good husband for Judy. He was the reason she was with them at all, was the reason she had finally agreed to come, and for this John was grateful. He loved his oldest daughter and couldn't imagine life without her near.  
  
Her, and the others as well. He had good kids, a good wife. He could be proud of them; they had each achieved so much.  
  
Don pulled out a thermos of coffee, poured John a cup and then one for himself. It wasn't real coffee, of course, but rather a kind of rich tea brewed from leaves that would otherwise have been used as mulch in the hydroponic garden. But it tasted not unlike coffee, and it could keep you warm when the nights grew cold.  
  
Are the nights cold on the worlds of Alpha Centauri?  
  
John sighed. He supposed they could be.  
  
The first, he thought. We were to have been the first.  
  
He knew, of course, that this dream at least had escaped him. They had been lost in space for too long and the other Jupiter missions would have reached the Alpha Centauri system by now. But even as this goal had faded, another had taken on much greater importance for John Robinson.  
  
They would make it there, to Alpha Centauri. They would arrive late, but they would arrive. John Robinson would compete his mission, because that was what he had set out to do. 


	4. A Walk Alone

A Walk Alone  
  
* * *  
  
On a world like this, you could walk forever and always be alone.  
  
There was, of course, life; ongoing environmental stress had given the planet a rugged, strong, healthy biosphere. But life alone does not bring company, does not bring someone to talk to, someone to listen to. To talk and to listen requires more.  
  
And this more, this exclusive feature of intelligent, sentient life, was the one thing in all the universe she lacked.  
  
She thought about that a lot these days.  
  
When she was young it hadn't seemed to matter so much. She liked being alone and had never seen herself as being popular like her sister. Being alone had meant freedom, time to pursue her interests, time to read and learn. Her teachers had all said she was smart, and the psychologists had said she would be well adapted to life on another world.  
  
The latter were wrong.  
  
Maybe it wasn't their fault; who could have foreseen the way the mission would fail? If things hadn't failed, if Dr. Smith hadn't sabotaged the Robot, the Jupiter II would have arrived at Alpha Centauri by now and there would have been other colonists joining them.  
  
Other people.  
  
Penny Robinson thought back and remembered.  
  
She had been twelve that day, twelve plus a month. There had been the ceremonies, all the excitement and meeting the President, and she remembered being swept up in it, remembered her last look at Earth out the triple windows of the upper deck before stepping into the cryogenic tube. She remembered that wistful feeling about home that she had never since admitted to.  
  
Twelve. Still a girl.  
  
All those years ago.  
  
Alone.  
  
It was simple, really, to do the math, to see how each of the others had another person. Mom and Dad. Judy and Don. Will and Dr. Smith and the Robot. Each of them had each other; to talk to, to listen to, to be with. Each pairing had happened quickly and it had not occurred to her until much later that they had, not until adolescence had come on her full force and she realized that who she had been before, that twelve year old tomboy embarking on a great adventure with her family, was no more.  
  
Penny Robinson was a young woman now, and things were different.  
  
#  
  
She was walking. Not forever, but still alone. Overhead, the faint white crescents of the two moons seemed to stare down at her like two wide eyes. The moons were large here, and when they were full their size and proximity made for nights so bright you could see a clear shadow of yourself if you sat outside behind the Jupiter II. Debbie liked it out there, hopping around in the faint light and sometimes looking up at her, her eyes bright and curious.  
  
What do you see? Penny wondered sometimes. When you look at me, what do you see?  
  
Was Debbie a friend, or a pet?  
  
Penny thought about this now, as she walked.  
  
There was a high spot nearby, up on a ridge, where you could get a good view of the entire valley. The Jupiter II was just visible from there, a little silver disc surrounded by the specks of equipment that made up their camp site. As Penny ascended the ridge now, her boots crunching on the soft earth, she paused to look back, the wind on her face tugging at a few errant strands of her long, dark hair.  
  
In time she reached the place and sat.  
  
She wondered what it was like to have a friend.  
  
There had been one or two back on Earth, other girls with whom she had shared childish talk and giggles and gossip. But these friendships had not been serious or deep; she and they had simply had in common a school or a neighborhood before Dad had volunteered the family for the space colonization project and they had all moved off to Houston.  
  
Training then. Adults everywhere.  
  
She thought back.  
  
There had been only one friend, in all the years since. Mr. Nobody. What he was, or it was, she had never known; neither had it ever been clear what he had become. But there had been love there, the particular kind of love that exists between friends, good friends. In the short time she had known him they had shared so much.  
  
She wondered about him, even after all this time.  
  
Penny shifted a bit to get more comfortable. This place had become familiar, but like all familiar things, it would be gone soon. Dad and Don were away with the chariot and their last radio communication had said that they had come upon a rich vein of deutronium, and that meant that once they returned the Jupiter II would be refueled and they would all be on their way.  
  
To where?  
  
Dad still talked about Alpha Centauri. Dr. Smith still insisted on Earth. It was an old argument and Penny wondered how much of it was now just posturing. It didn't matter anymore where they returned so long as there were human beings there. Surely the Jupiter III would have arrived at Alpha Centauri by now; the Allen family had received the same training as her own and by now the colony was probably thriving. If the Jupiter II reached Alpha Centauri after all these years there would be no talk of the Robinsons having completed their mission despite the odds; didn't Dad see this? Didn't he see that just to return alive would be a success that would make the history books?  
  
Penny sighed and looked out across the barren valley.  
  
Alone.  
  
I want a friend.  
  
I want someone, anyone, that I can talk to who isn't family.  
  
I want a man.  
  
She thought of Judy. It had been worse since the wedding, since that day she had stood as bridesmaid for her sister and had watched Don hold Judy in his arms and kiss her. She didn't want to envy Judy, but the emotion was there and Penny couldn't deny it. She wanted Don West to take her in his arms and hold her that way, wanted to feel his kiss on her lips, his touch on her body. It had been easy enough to deny these feelings when she was younger, but no longer, no more. Don loved Judy with the utter loyalty that Penny wanted for herself.  
  
I want to be loved, like that. I want it and I need it.  
  
Quietly, sitting alone, Penny Robinson lowered her face into her hands and began to weep.  
  
#  
  
They came quietly. She did not note their approach until it was too late, and then they had her. Her scream for help was cut off even before it even reached her lips. 


	5. A Little Unease

A Little Unease  
  
* * *  
  
Midday passed, the sun hot overhead, shadows sharp and small, extending slowly as afternoon began. A small tremor shook the valley, but Maureen Robinson barely noticed it.  
  
We've been here too long, she thought when she realized this. It's not good to stay on one planet so long. We need to find our way home.  
  
Home.  
  
The sentiment surprised her a bit. It wasn't something she vocalized, but it was there, had been there for a long time now.  
  
How long?  
  
She didn't know. Perhaps it had started slowly, with the little things. Foods from Earth, the smells of familiar food well prepared, the voices of strangers, overheard in the background. Little things.  
  
And not so little.  
  
She wondered if the others felt this way.  
  
Around the Jupiter II there were tasks to be done, repairs and maintenance to be performed. This had long ago become habit for the Robinsons and West; the ship had not been designed for all they asked of it and as systems failed from necessary overuse or misuse they were each called upon to coax just a little more life out of them. Each of the Robinson children had become an engineer, a jack-of-all-trades. Each of them knew how things worked and how they worked together, and each had at one time or another suggested an improvement here, a refinement there. In more than one place a piece of alien technology had been adapted to replace something beyond repair.  
  
The Jupiter II belonged in a museum for more reasons than one.  
  
It was late afternoon when Maureen was finally satisfied with the astrogation system alignment. It wasn't perfect, of course. It never had been; the Robot had seen to that during the first rampage, so long ago now. But it was functional and with it they could direct the ship's course. Will had come up with a clever bypass around one of the ruined systems last year that allowed them to compare their original charts with those they had acquired during their travels; if ever a match came, they would know it.  
  
Soon, she thought as she returned her tool kit to the storage locker on the lower deck. Please, God, make it soon.  
  
She was a perceptive woman, Maureen Robinson was.  
  
Will emerged from the core. He was taller now, slender and sometimes it seemed that he was a bit unfamiliar with his body; this last year had seen the beginnings of an adolescent growth spurt. And he was handsome, too, like his father. She wondered about him sometimes, about how he was always working, always tinkering. Was he lonely?  
  
She smiled at her son.  
  
"Finished?" she asked.  
  
He nodded. "As close as I can get it. I wish I could do more, though."  
  
"You do enough," she told him. "Hungry?"  
  
"Yeah." He was always hungry these days.  
  
The rear stateroom door opened and Dr. Smith stepped out. His hair was just a bit mussed and he yawned.  
  
"Ah, Madame," he said. "Am I to understand that dinner is prepared?"  
  
Maureen stepped to the galley, opened a cabinet, pulled out three wrapped packages. "Basic ration packs," she said. "Straight from the hydroponic garden. Enjoy."  
  
Smith's face fell.  
  
"Oh, Madame, I was so hoping that you might have prepared one of your delicious stews. I'm afraid my stomach has been acting up of late, you know."  
  
Maureen watched him. Will did also.  
  
"I've been busy, Dr. Smith. You know that. And you recall that I offered to teach you the recipes; I'm sure we'd all enjoy it if you would make dinner sometime."  
  
If anything, he looked more bothered than usual as his eyes rolled.  
  
"Oh, I should love to, Madame, but you know it is so hard for me to stand for so long. My back, you know. It's simply a disaster area today, and cooking over a stove would likely finish me! Oh, the pain!"  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Maureen saw Will smile. Will liked Smith; when you got right down to it, he was probably the only one of them who really did. She had to admit that the doctor could be amusing, though he did little work.  
  
Amusing. That was something, anyway.  
  
She smiled now and pushed the food pack into his hands. "There you are, then. Bon appetit."  
  
Will took two packs, and Maureen took three and stepped to the elevator to find Judy and Penny.  
  
#  
  
Judy had been working outside, on the exterior hull. She came quickly at the call for food, sat with Maureen at the table outside and eagerly consumed the food pack. She had filled out some and her face was radiant, her blonde hair pulled back now. Don was good to her, maybe too good. Attentive and loving and pandering. They spent a lot of nights in the chariot for privacy and Maureen had laughed when John had talked about it with her.  
  
"Remember when we were so worried she would wind up in the back of some boy's car? Now look at her!"  
  
Secretly Maureen wondered, as she looked at her oldest child, when she was going to be a grandmother. Probably only a matter of time now.  
  
Judy smiled. "That was good. Thanks, Mom."  
  
"Don't thank me. Penny prepared these two months ago."  
  
Judy nodded, noted the remaining packet.  
  
"So she's not eating her own cooking?"  
  
Maureen took the packet and stood. "I'll take it to her. What's she working on?"  
  
"I think she was going to remodulate the force field projector."  
  
That would be the top deck, near the astrogator. But Maureen had been up there for the past three hours and hadn't seen or heard her second daughter.  
  
#  
  
The search began casually, intensified.  
  
Who last saw her?  
  
Judy, just after breakfast. She said something about taking a walk.  
  
Alone? If she went alone, she wouldn't have gone far. She knows better than to go too far alone.  
  
The sun was getting lower. Maureen finally turned to Will.  
  
"Get the Robot, and some jackets. Judy, you're with Dr. Smith. I'll take the jet pack. Find her." 


	6. Darkness

Darkness  
  
* * *  
  
Penny blinked in the darkness. It was a reflex, pointless. Darkness was a lack of photons and blinking would only moisten the eyes.  
  
Pointless.  
  
She blinked again.  
  
The bonds that held her were tight.  
  
She wondered how long it had been. Her mouth was dry.  
  
"Hello?" she called. "Is anyone there?"  
  
Nothing. Just like before.  
  
Darkness and silence.  
  
She rolled to her back. Her hands were bound behind her, her ankles bound too. The ground beneath her was rough, sandy.  
  
For a few moments she struggled. Nothing.  
  
She wondered how long it had been.  
  
"Hello?" she called again.  
  
Panic rose then, building in her. She tried to fight it, to keep it down, tried reminding herself that it never did any good to panic.  
  
She tried.  
  
Her screams echoed back at her.  
  
And with them, the sounds of motion nearby.  
  
This fueled her fear and she screamed again, tensing against her bonds.  
  
Motion, closer now.  
  
She fought, struggled.  
  
And then there was light. And a voice.  
  
"You suffer?"  
  
It was raspy, not human. It came from near the light, just a faint glow now, not far away.  
  
Her panic subsided into fear and exhaustion.  
  
"Please ...." she moaned.  
  
"You suffer," the voice said again. "Good." 


	7. First Search

First Search  
  
* * *  
  
The Chariot returned as quickly as such a vehicle could, churning up dust in its wake as John powered back to the Jupiter II campsite. Despite this, and perhaps because it carried a nearly full load of deutronium, the return seemed agonizingly slow.  
  
Words, on the communicator. Maureen.  
  
We don't know where she is. We did a search as soon as we realized she was gone, but we found nothing. The Robot has been scanning for human and humanoid lifeforms but that's shown nothing too.  
  
She can't have just vanished off the planet.  
  
But as he drove, John knew that this was in fact a distinct possibility. It had happened before. He remembered the Keeper, that collector of creatures from distant worlds, remembered how it had felt when he had demanded that he be given Will and Penny, that they might spend the rest of their lives in an alien zoo. And there were others, too, who had taken such an interest in his family, in Don, even in Dr. Smith or the Robot. And with each of these times, John remembered the deep fear in his heart that the family he loved and had sworn to himself and God to protect might be torn apart.  
  
We'll find her.  
  
He remembered the edge to Maureen's voice as she had answered him.  
  
We'll keep looking.  
  
"Careful," Don said.  
  
John braked even as the pilot spoke, the treads of the Chariot slipping in the loose dirt, the tail sliding as they rounded the corner of the dry riverbed. John did not answer, only nodded and pressed the accelerators forward again.  
  
"Want me to drive a bit?" Don asked.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Don braced himself in his seat as they rounded another corner. He did not ask again.  
  
#  
  
Dawn.  
  
It cut across the east with red fingers of light, distant and just a hint now, still far away but inexorable in its warnings. Long shadows, barely visible in the remaining gloom, marked stones and hills, ravines and wadis.  
  
It was still dark, still cool. Overhead, the large moons stared down at the world like curious eyes.  
  
And through the three large windows on the upper deck of the Jupiter II, another light poured forth.  
  
They had gathered. They had risen after fitful sleep, eaten in silence, and now were strapping on packs and scanners and lasers. In addition, Maureen was checking her jet pack for another flight.  
  
Unease had, in the chill and the darkness, become fear.  
  
Outside, the light grew.  
  
Will crouched before the Robot, tinkering inside a panel there.  
  
"I've broadened the range," he said to no one in particular. "And I've increased sensitivity. It means we'll get a lot of false leads, but ...."  
  
His voice trailed off. Judy nodded from where she sat, double checking the charge on the laser rife she bore. No other words were spoken.  
  
The light grew further; the long shadow of a rock made its way through the wide windows.  
  
Judy stood.  
  
"Let's go."  
  
Will finished his work and they moved to the airlock with a promise to check in every half hour. Maureen nodded and watched them go, then returned her attention to the jet pack. Below, she knew that Dr. Smith was still sleeping; he had cooperated in the search yesterday and had collapsed into his bunk last night without a word, demand, or complaint. It was sometimes easy to forget that he was older and that he never exercised, since his normal response to any suggestion that he actually work was met with any of a wide variety of excuses, none of them convincing until now, when he had actually tried to help and had driven himself to exhaustion.  
  
She pondered a moment at the irony, then stepped outside and secured the door of the Jupiter II. As she rose into the early morning air she activated the force field as well.  
  
She could not help but think of her second daughter as she did so.  
  
#  
  
Penny.  
  
Penny was a responsible girl. She was always where she said she would be.  
  
Only not yesterday. Had she left them?  
  
No.  
  
But the Robot had checked this planet when they had first arrived, had found no dangerous life forms; even the local microbes were harmless and easily destroyed by the human immune system. The tremors could be a hazard, but only the larger ones, and there hadn't been any of those in several days. And Penny knew to be careful, didn't she?  
  
Of course she did.  
  
Then where was she?  
  
There was a nagging doubt in the back of Maureen's mind and she found as she flew that it was more than this latest fear. Penny was different these days; quieter, more sullen. She didn't volunteer her feelings the way she used to. Days would pass without a word; just her work and her chores, done to perfection, and the pleated face of her cabin door, closed.  
  
As the jet pack lifted her, its noise reduced to a dull roar by her helmet, Maureen found herself wondering if any of the others had noticed. We're all so preoccupied, she thought, every one of us. We've all got things we're trying to work out. It hasn't been easy.  
  
And John, she had to admit to herself, had never paid a lot of attention to his children. He was a traditional man with traditional ideas. Achievements, not feelings, were what mattered to him. Had he ever just sat with Penny, with Will, with Judy? Just sat and talked, asked how they were doing, asked if they were happy spending their lives in space?  
  
Judy had resisted the mission at first, remember? We had to ask her to come along. Did we ask Penny or Will? Or did we bring them along like so much baggage? What did we ask them to leave behind?  
  
Maureen banked, headed north along the dry riverbed. Once it had run with water, but a quake further along had diverted it, and now it was marked with the dead branches of trees that had perished along its banks. As she flew she kept her eyes on the ground, looking for any telltale signs of her daughter.  
  
Nothing. Maureen expanded her search pattern, remained up until the last traces of light had vanished in the west, then banked again and flew back towards the Jupiter II.  
  
Please, she thought as she saw the lights of the ship ahead. Please let it be that Will and Judy and the Robot found her.  
  
As she settled to the ground outside the main hatch of the ship, Maureen noted the look on each of their faces, and her heart sank as they gathered on the upper deck and talked.  
  
The Robot had tracked her, up to a ridge nearby that they all knew she favored as a place to sit and think. There had been some other biosignatures there too, unfamiliar. It was unclear whether they had been there at the same time as Penny, and they had not left a trail that could be followed.  
  
And that was all as the Chariot returned. 


	8. We and You

We and You  
* * *  
  
Thirst. First and foremost, there was the thirst. It ate at her, at her tongue, her belly, every cell in her body crying out for water. Too, it incapacitated her, reduced her struggles to nothing, as she lay, still bound, on the floor of the cave, her bonds digging into her wrists and bringing pain.  
  
Pain was the second. It was less than thirst, but it exacted its price nonetheless. Pain was the agony of poor circulation in her hands, the sensation of the bindings around her ankles pressing a fold in her sock against her skin, even through her boot, digging deep in growing misery.  
  
Third, more distant now, was shame and fear. These were together; shame at her vulnerability, fear at what it might bring. Who were her captors, and why? She remembered their words, how they had said they took pleasure in her pain, but there was no "why", no explanation.  
  
Penny moaned now, at the thirst, at the pain, at the shame and fear.  
  
It was dark but not completely black in the cave. She wasn't sure where the light was coming from, or even, in fact, if it existed at all, if the faint images of rocks and walls were not just in her mind.  
  
Maybe.  
  
She moaned again, trying to move her fingers to help with the circulation.  
  
It was silent in the cave.  
  
#  
  
Time became unclear to her. Without the motion of the sun, she no longer knew if it was night or day, and with this uncertainty she found herself unsure of how long she had been here. A day? Two? More?  
  
Moaning was no longer easy.  
  
Motion, then, before her. Something moving. As though she was looking through the eyes of someone else she saw it, moving in the dim light.  
  
Eight legs. Four arms and four legs. Dark. Then, three red eyes, staring at her.  
  
She parted her lips and tried to beg for water with her tongue.  
  
It regarded her.  
  
Please, she mouthed, no sound escaping her dried, swollen lips. Please.  
  
The head moved, almost as though it was curious.  
  
"You suffer?" she heard.  
  
She managed a moan this time.  
  
"Good. We suffer, and you suffer."  
  
It watched her again now, for what seemed a very long time. She watched it back, too weak to look away.  
  
"But we do not die, yet," it said then. "So you do not die. Yet."  
  
It moved away, returned. In one of its hands it held a tube, which it pressed to her lips.  
  
Water. Warm and just so slightly saline, it ran over her lips. She was too weak to swallow at first, and it pooled around her head, soaking into her long, dark hair. Then the thing moved to her, held her head up, and the water filled her mouth.  
  
She swallowed all that she could.  
  
#  
  
In time, the thirst was no longer the first thing. In time, she managed the strength to sit up, her back against the wall of the cavern, feeling her entire side shiver as the circulation returned there.  
  
It still watched her.  
  
In time she managed words.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
It cocked its head, the three red eyes seeming to burn into her.  
  
"You know. We are that you have hurt."  
  
She shook her own head now. "No. I didn't hurt you. I've never seen you before."  
  
"You hurt us. You burned us."  
  
"Please," she said. "I didn't."  
  
"You lie. We are burned. We are hurt." It paused then, still regarding her. She shook her head again.  
  
"No, please," she said. "I didn't do anything."  
  
It backed away now, and as it did the light began to fade in the chamber.  
  
"You did. And if we die, then you die." 


	9. Second Search

Second Search  
* * *  
  
John stood with Will and the Robot on the low ridge where the Robot had lost Penny's trail. He knew the spot, remembered standing here when they had first arrived, scanning the valley with binoculars. There was a certain beauty to this world, a newness to it that came from the powerful forces that constantly reshaped its surface. What on Earth might take a billion years to occur could happen here in a million.  
  
Or less. He had also found during their stay evidence of planetwide catastrophes that had occurred almost overnight.  
  
There can be great danger in great beauty.  
  
John had not slept well last night, despite the warm presence of his wife beside him. He recalled the conversation on the upper deck of the Jupiter II, how Maureen, Judy and Will had each explained what they had done, where and how they had searched. And he had felt the ache of growing fear in the pit of his stomach as he realized they had done all that he would have done and more, and still Penny was nowhere to be found.  
  
He remembered what Don had said during the long drive back in the Chariot.  
  
"It's Smith. I just know it's him."  
  
"We don't know that."  
  
"Isn't it always Smith?"  
  
That Don disliked Smith was common knowledge among the Robinsons. To Don, Smith was more than a traitor, more than just the man who had sabotaged them and who had betrayed his country. He had betrayed his uniform as well, a uniform that Don took seriously. And he had betrayed Don's most basic belief about participation, about each person contributing to make each venture a success, again a feature of the Major's military background.  
  
And last night, Smith had simply picked the wrong time to come wandering up from below.  
  
John had asked him for his report, his opinion.  
  
"Oh, professor," Smith intoned, "Indeed I have considered this, even as Judy and I searched every inch of this desolate valley. What could have happened?"  
  
"What did you find?"  
  
"Alas, not a thing, dear professor."  
  
Don watched the doctor suspiciously. "Or is that just what you want us to think?" he asked softly.  
  
Smith drew up, almost regal in his indignation. "Are you implying that I am somehow involved in the disappearance of the poor girl, Major?"  
  
Don matched his stare. "You tell me, doctor. Are you?"  
  
"Don, please." It was Judy now, wrapping her arm around her young husband's. "Dr. Smith helped me look all day yesterday."  
  
"That doesn't mean anything."  
  
Smith looked down at the pilot, his patrician nose held high. "You are ridiculous, Major, to think I would ever intentionally hurt the dear girl." His voice dripped with his usual scorn. "Indeed."  
  
And so the conversation had ended and the second long night begun.  
  
#  
  
John scanned the valley again. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. Anything, something. And still, in the back of his mind, the thought remained: what if she was taken off planet?  
  
And behind this thought was another, more terrifying.  
  
We're still at least a week away from being able to launch, even with the new deutronium.  
  
Behind him, he heard the approach of Will and the Robot, and John lowered the binoculars to turn and face them.  
  
"Anything?" he asked.  
  
His son looked back at him. Almost a man now; young, still, but almost a man. When had that happened?  
  
"Nothing of her biosignature," Will said. "I've got the robot's scanners as sensitive as I can get them."  
  
The Robot spoke then. "There are several billion harmless local microbes on your boots, Will Robinson."  
  
John nodded. "Anything else?"  
  
"Just the other biosignatures. I don't know what they are, but they don't look native. I've got the start of a trail."  
  
"Barometric pressure has just dropped 0.002 percent, Will Robinson."  
  
"Which way?" John asked.  
  
Will pointed with his finger in the direction of a nearby set of hills, instructed the Robot to lead the way. They made good progress for a while.  
  
And in that while, they found the small cave. 


	10. Anger

Anger  
* * *  
  
"I don't understand," she whispered.  
  
The thing had returned in the dim light, and it was watching her. Behind it were several more, their red eyes like points. She was still sitting up, the pain of her bonds still harsh. A long strand of her hair had fallen over her face, cutting her vision, and she was unable to pull it away.  
  
"Balance," the thing said. "You have burned us, and we suffer."  
  
She fought to make sense of the words. "Balance? Please, if I did something to hurt you, I'm sorry. But I don't understand."  
  
It looked at her, and the others looked also.  
  
"How can you not understand?" it asked finally. "You burned us with a weapon. You came to us and you burned us. If we die, then you must die. This is balance"  
  
Penny regarded the thing, the others. She wasn't sure what to look for, what a burn on the thing would look like. But it didn't seem injured; when it had held her head to drink it had seemed strong. She peered through the gloom at the others; there too there was no sign of injury.  
  
"You don't look burned to me," she said softly.  
  
The thing hissed. It jumped forward, suddenly, landing on her chest. She felt claws from its hands and feet dig into her, felt the fabric of her top tear as the claws cut through it, and she cried out as she felt its breath against her face, the three red eyes close now.  
  
"You burn us and deny our pain?"  
  
She felt the first edge of panic and cried out again, the sound of her scream echoing through the cavern as she thrashed, fighting to get the thing off of herself.  
  
"No! Please, stop! No!"  
  
The claws cut deep into her and she felt the new pain as they did. 


	11. The Cave

The Cave  
* * *  
  
They hurried.  
  
They had heard the cry, the scream.  
  
Human.  
  
Female.  
  
Penny.  
  
They hurried.  
  
It hadn't been a big entrance, but it had been there. Only a few kilometers from the ridge, shielded overhead by a large slab, the entrance would have been easy to miss but for the Robot, who rolled along quickly, its clawed arms flailing as it followed the alien biosignatures to this spot and then within. John had hesitated only for a few seconds at the narrow entrance; it was easy to see that this cave was new, very new, formed by a shift in the soil and rocks underneath the slab, and formed recently, at that.  
  
It was also clear that it wasn't very solid.  
  
"You stay here," he said to Will.  
  
His son shook his head.  
  
"We go together."  
  
"Son, I mean it. This cave isn't safe."  
  
"Which is why you aren't going alone, Dad."  
  
The Robot was already several meters inside.  
  
"Human biosignature detected. Preliminary analysis indicates 78.4645 percent likelihood that it is Penny Robinson."  
  
John looked at Will. Will had always been a strong willed boy, had always done what he thought was right even when he was told not to. On more than one occasion this had saved them all. He was not looking at his father now but rather at the cave and the lights of the Robot inside.  
  
No time to argue. She was daughter and sister.  
  
"Call your mother," John said then. "Tell her and Don where we are. Then we go."  
  
Will was quick about it.  
  
#  
  
They hurried.  
  
The second scream echoed through the cavern. This time there was no question but that it was Penny.  
  
A deep chasm, a narrow ledge. John switched his lamp to high beam and pointed it across the chasm.  
  
Something moved, over there.  
  
"Penny!" he shouted.  
  
She screamed again.  
  
John had taken only a few steps onto the ledge when the tremor began. Behind him he heard the Robot.  
  
"Danger, Will Robinson! Danger! Sensors indicate a massive seismic event in progress!"  
  
"Dad!" he heard Will call.  
  
John stumbled, slipped as the ledge began to give way. As he did his arm went out, struggling for balance, his lamp cutting an arc to the chasm below, which was dark by its depth despite the high beam. As his hand closed on a nearby rock for support, the beam came up and as it cut the darkness, he saw.  
  
Penny.  
  
There, across the chasm, maybe ten meters away. She was on her side, her hands and arms behind her.  
  
"Danger, John Robinson!" the Robot called. "Instability in the cavern is growing!"  
  
The earth shook again.  
  
And he heard her voice, echoing back to him.  
  
"Dad!"  
  
He could feel the ledge crumbling beneath his feet. There wasn't much time.  
  
Her cry was desperate. "Dad! Help me!"  
  
He saw them, then, as he moved forward. Something else, over there. Red eyes, dark bodies, watching him.  
  
"Penny!" he shouted. "Hang on!"  
  
"Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!"  
  
Will's voice, as the tremor grew and rock began to fall from above.  
  
"Dad! This place is coming down!"  
  
Will had his own lamp on Penny now, giving John a line of sight. It wasn't far, just a few more meters.  
  
Just a few more. A few more. He knew that Penny could see him now.  
  
Please, my baby. Hang on.  
  
That was when the ledge collapsed.  
  
#  
  
It all happened suddenly, and yet as it did it seemed an eternity. The rock, crumbing like liquid beneath his feet. Air, rushing from his lungs in a torrent, even as around him rock began to fall like rain.  
  
John Robinson felt his body begin to fall.  
  
Instinct then. No thought, only an instant reaction, leaping toward the nearest solid ground. Self preservation.  
  
The nearest solid ground.  
  
Away from his daughter, toward Will and the Robot.  
  
Through the din, voices.  
  
"Dad!" That was Will.  
  
"Danger, Will Robinson! Cavern collapse is imminent! Danger!"  
  
And as he impacted the face of the ravine, just below his son and the Robot, John Robinson heard the third voice, as though it was from far, far away.  
  
"Daddy!"  
  
His feet dangled as he fought to gain purchase on the rock and sand, as his hands clutched desperately at nothing, his fingernails clawing at the loose earth that was all that kept him from pitching into the inky blackness of the chasm below. Panic, for the first time, came as a shiver through his body as he realized that there was nothing to hang on to.  
  
His grip gave way.  
  
And as he slipped back, still struggling, John felt something hard, something metal, snap around his wrist and pull.  
  
He did not fall.  
  
The Robot pulled him up, and he felt Will's hands on him too now, heard his son's voice.  
  
"Dad!"  
  
As if on cue, the cavern shook again, the world a roar of falling rock. The beam of his lantern showed only dust.  
  
"Where is she?" he yelled.  
  
"Danger! Danger!"  
  
Somewhere nearby, John sensed as a large rock impacted another and shattered.  
  
Will again.  
  
"Dad! We have to go!"  
  
"No! Not without her!" John waved his lamp wildly in the chaos.  
  
"Dad!"  
  
Something hard hit his head, glancing off his skull. It was suddenly hard to think, hard to understand. His baby girl was there, over there, somewhere. He had to get to her, had to save her. He felt himself moving, running, guided by the steel claw that had again locked around his wrist, his son somewhere nearby, the noise of the collapsing cave proving overwhelming as they fled.  
  
Overwhelming save for a single, terrified cry that was his daughter, somewhere behind him.  
  
"Daddy!" 


	12. Escape

Escape  
* * *  
  
Somehow they made it out. Somehow the Robot, whose eyes required neither light nor clarity in the air to see, guided them through the dark and the dust, and the noise, back the way they had come, rushing out from beneath the large slab of rock into the sunlight. His eyes running with tears that were part dust and part fear and part something more, John felt himself pulled by the Robot's mechanical hand, felt himself collapse to the quivering ground, felt arms suddenly around him and heard a voice he knew.  
  
Maureen.  
  
"John?"  
  
A rumble, then, as his eyes fought to see. And there, close nearby, was Will, and was the Robot, and was Don, wearing a jet pack. And there, not so far, was the cave entrance, trembling in the massive quake, suddenly vomiting a cloud of dust and rock as the last air was forced from it, roaring as though alive.  
  
John watched this.  
  
And he watched, as a last insult, the slab itself give way, collapsing with a shattering, sickening crunch to the earth below it, erasing all evidence that there had ever been a cave there at all.  
  
Then it became still as the tremor subsided. 


	13. In My Room

In My Room  
* * *  
  
Sleep.  
  
I cannot.  
  
Move.  
  
No.  
  
Nothing. Nothing at all. Just him, there, lying there, alive. Just him, alone.  
  
Alone save for the ache that wouldn't, that couldn't, go away.  
  
Somewhere in this, in all this that was nothing but the hollow ache, there was also the shame. Burning now, deep in him, burning and consuming him as he lay helpless, as one by one the memories came and went, as they intruded like daggers into his soul, as they cut at him with their joy, with the joy they had been.  
  
#  
  
So small, just a little thing, wrapped, still wet in a blanket, given to him to hold by Maureen, who lay exhausted in the hospital bed, smiling the incomprehensible love that she was, that she felt despite the long labor.  
  
He looked down.  
  
So small. A little lock of dark hair, little hands moving in the blanket, clutching at the air of this strange new world, eyes closed.  
  
So small, so perfect, so beautiful.  
  
His daughter.  
  
#  
  
So young. Playing in the backyard, running barefoot over the grass, a happy vision that came to him with her smile, with her love. She was Penelope, but they had never called her that, none save for her grandparents. Penelope ... Penny. My beautiful, wonderful, lucky Penny.  
  
#  
  
So smart. Visits to the classroom of her school, her teacher's words, her teacher's praise.  
  
Smart girl. So smart. You must be so proud of her.  
  
We are.  
  
And home that night, and she, in her pajamas, looking up at them with a smile as they returned, and the impossibility of denying his pride in her. For she knew, she knew, that she was smart, that she was special, that she was ....  
  
#  
  
So perfect. So perfect in who she was, in the girl and the daughter and the young woman she became. So perfect, so understanding, so very much a part of the universe, a reality that was right, that made it right, that made it all worth living.  
  
#  
  
So alive.  
  
So alive.  
  
#  
  
No.  
  
Someone came into the cabin. Judy. He could tell by her step, by the quiet sound her feet made as they moved across the floor to him. He could feel as her hand came out, as it caressed his shoulder gently.  
  
"Dad?"  
  
Nothing. Say nothing. Maybe if you say nothing the universe will just go away.  
  
"Dad? I've brought you some soup. Please eat something, Dad."  
  
His eyes opened and he looked at her. Oh, my beautiful Judy, my beautiful daughter, what have I done? What life have I taken from you, the way I took the life of your sister?  
  
The way I failed?  
  
For he had. He, John Robinson, he who had never met an obstacle he couldn't overcome, who had always met adversity with resolve, with strength, he had failed. He had failed. He had failed.  
  
And she was gone.  
  
He smelled the soup beside the bed, the aromatic steam wafting up to his nostrils. But there was no aroma to it, only the smell of dust, of the collapsing walls that haunted his nightmares, of those first few moments, those crucial moments when he had just sat there, staring dumbfounded at the large slab of rock, suddenly and for the first time in his life, not knowing what to do.  
  
And Don, running down to it, surveying it. Efficient, careful.  
  
We have to get her out. No time. No time. How long could she last, without air? Five minutes, ten? How deep was it? Get the Robot, get him scanning. We can cut through with lasers; we have lasers. We can cut through. Scan for her.  
  
Himself, standing suddenly, yelling orders, rushing down to Don, rushing past him to the stone, throwing a rock aside, then another.  
  
Hurry! Hurry! We haven't much time!  
  
Panic.  
  
And then nothing, and then here.  
  
John opened his eyes again. The room was empty; Judy had gone. Somewhere not so far away, he heard the sound of weeping, weeping he knew. Maureen. He looked down at the bowl of soup, cold now, no steam rising from it, and he found himself unable to move, unable to rise.  
  
Maureen.  
  
Weeping.  
  
He had failed her too. 


	14. Grief

Grief  
* * *  
  
Don West knew death. He of all of them knew it. He of all of them had been trained to bring it about.  
  
Yet he had never given it much thought before. It had always been an abstract, dealt from afar. Press a button, launch a missile, the life of that man or that woman over there, who is trying even as you speak to launch their own missile at you, comes to an end. Then you paint another mark on the side of your fighter and never think of it again.  
  
Only he did. That was why he had gotten out of combat flight and into the Jupiter program. That was the truth, the real reason. It hadn't been the glory of exploration, of being the first pilot to guide a Jupiter colony scout to a new world. That was fine but it wasn't enough.  
  
He had never told anyone this.  
  
Not even Judy.  
  
He watched her now, Don West did, watched as his young wife tended to her family, watched as the truth of death sank in deep into each of them. This was not a sudden thing.  
  
Shock, that first day. The Robot, roaming, scanning, its own voice lower as it reported in.  
  
"Negative, Major West. Negative. The cavern has collapsed past the range of my sensors."  
  
Nightfall. Dawn.  
  
Returning to the Jupiter II in the Chariot, which Judy had brought out to them.  
  
Silence.  
  
#  
  
Don West watched now, as a day became another, as the silence extended over the Jupiter II. He watched each of them.  
  
Each had claimed a space.  
  
Maureen on the lower deck, facing the closed lower viewport, looking thin and pale, sitting with Judy, eating a little from time to time, taking a sip of water as her daughter offered it to her, sometimes just sitting, sometimes and without warning bursting into tears. And Judy would hold her then, hold her and rock her.  
  
Smith.  
  
Don watched the man. He tried to take his measure now, looked for any reason, any at all, to take Smith out and beat the hell out of him. Maybe, he thought as the day passed, maybe I could just do it. Who would stop me?  
  
But Smith gave no cause. Once, in the morning, he had actually gone to Maureen, blubbering into his lace handkerchief, and he had simply sat beside her and held her and they had wept together. And Don saw, then, that this was not the time to take out his rage against the doctor, traitor though he was. To beat the man in to a bloody pulp would do no good. He would feel no better afterward.  
  
Will, on the upper deck in one of the flight chairs, staring out the window. He didn't weep, not once, those first days. He only stared, rousing himself from time to time to get something, to tinker a bit with the Robot, to leave his tinkering half finished.  
  
And John.  
  
John frightened Major West most of all.  
  
Because it was as though John was dead.  
  
He lay in his cabin, unmoving, eyes drawn, face gaunt. He lay there alone; when Maureen had gone in to him he had turned away from her, turned his back on his wife, hidden himself until she had gone. He neither ate nor spoke, the food Judy brought to him remaining untouched.  
  
Judy.  
  
Don watched his young wife and wondered, marveled at her. She worked, through the day, tending to her mother and her father, watching Will carefully, doing their chores and Penny's chores, the little tasks that could not be neglected. Don worked too, the work not quite helping him forget, not quite covering the deep pain he dared not show just now.  
  
Because things had to be done. He loaded the deutronium into the Jupiter II, did a check of the drives.  
  
Night came.  
  
#  
  
Judy lay in his arms now, in the small space of their cabin. It was very silent and he wondered if she was sleeping.  
  
No. She spoke softly.  
  
"I'm trying to remember."  
  
"Remember what?" he asked.  
  
"The last thing I said to her. I don't remember it. I don't remember."  
  
Don said nothing, only kissed her gently on the cheek.  
  
She was silent for a time.  
  
And then she had pressed against him, and she was sobbing and he felt the wetness of her tears against his skin, and he wondered about those things that cannot be understood. 


	15. And Life

And Life  
* * *  
  
And there was morning, that next day. And another, and another, for the turnings of worlds and suns is not a thing that can end so suddenly.  
  
Neither does the heart cease so quickly. Life is more stubborn than that.  
  
In time his thirst and his hunger drove him out. In time sleep had come too, fitful and unsatisfying and like a dark shroud over him, but it had come. And when it had passed John Robinson found with great sadness that he still was, that the weight of his life had not passed, that the shame and ache of being were not things to go away so easily.  
  
Slowly, he rose.  
  
Walking was uncertain. He stumbled to the bathroom, stared for a moment into the mirror after he had finished his toilet. A man stared back at him, an unshaven, dirty, unfamiliar man.  
  
A man who had failed.  
  
A man he should hate.  
  
Very well.  
  
Judy met him outside, guided him to the galley. He said nothing as she did so, as she set some food before him, as he ate it mechanically. Then there was someone beside him, someone he knew.  
  
Maureen.  
  
I have killed your daughter, Maureen. Your eighteen hours of labor; I have destroyed them. I took our little girl into space and I let her die. I am guilty.  
  
Punish me.  
  
Only she did not. Maureen looked closely at him, put her arm around him and held him.  
  
#  
  
Dr. Zachery Smith lay on the bunk of his stateroom and wondered how something so simple, something that he himself had once tried to bring about, could feel so different once it happened.  
  
He wanted to blame the Robot. That clattering cacophony of clutter couldn't find the barn in a barnyard, and it had led Dr. Robinson and William on a fool's errand into an unstable cave. Of course they claimed to have seen Penny, but had they, really? Had it occurred to them that in the darkness it might not have been her? Strange things lived in the caverns of this world; this Dr. Smith knew from experience. But of course, the Robinsons were always so certain they were right, were always so certain that they couldn't make mistakes, and yet here they all were, after all these years, still lost in space. Had they but had the sense to simply focus on finding a way back to Earth, all would be well right now.  
  
Poor, dear Penny would still be alive.  
  
The failing of Dr. Smith's logic did not faze him. His grief for Penny was genuine; even now the thought of her entombed in that hillside brought him to tears. And there was something about the pain of the Robinsons now that ate at him, that made him feel things he had long ago tried to suppress.  
  
A starship, the Gaklak had said. In the mountain. A way back to Earth.  
  
It had not bothered to mention that the starship would be guarded by some sort of creature, some sort of infernal fiend of the cavern.  
  
Thank heavens I was armed.  
  
I have to get off this infernal planet. I have to get away from these Robinsons.  
  
Because I don't think I can cope with this kind of pain anymore.  
  
#  
  
Will sat quietly. The Robot stood beside him, a panel open where Will had been fiddling with something. He had forgotten what it was now, but he supposed it didn't matter.  
  
We used to play together, he thought. We used to fight. She was such a tomboy and I would tell her that girls couldn't be something or do something and she would get mad and tell me they could. Then she would prove it. She would find a newspaper or a magazine where a woman had done something amazing and shove it under my nose and tell me that I was a retard. Or she would do it herself, and gloat over me.  
  
And God, I loved it when she would do that, even though I said she was a booger head, because she was so smart and she always figured things out. She was my smart, tomboy sister.  
  
I wish I had told her that.  
  
I wish --  
  
There has to be a way. There always was a way, before, when Dr. Smith would get us into trouble with space vikings or androids or aliens and we would figure a way out of it. All those adventures; we even got off that planet with the giant walking carrot; how improbable was that?  
  
There has to be a way to save my sister.  
  
Let's see. If there was an air pocket, she could survive a long time in there. There was that chasm, and it had to be old, and there would be enough air there for a long time. We could drill a tunnel down to her and get her out and God this whole damn thing would just be one big nightmare.  
  
But the Robot scanned as deeply as it could. It scanned deeper than we could drill. There was no chasm anymore. It didn't even locate her body.  
  
Oh, God. Her body. Not even her anymore.  
  
Will shuddered at his own choice of words.  
  
I want to wake up. I have to wake up. 


	16. And Moving On

And Moving On  
* * *  
  
How long?  
  
A day? Two days? A week?  
  
How long do you wait? How long must pass before you accept it, before you agree that it is not a dream, that it is real and terrible and true?  
  
How long before you honor them?  
  
How long?  
  
She didn't know.  
  
But as the days passed, as the fog of shock, of pain, of realization passed, the question came. It was a hard question, hard to ask and harder still to answer, for she had no experience in these sorts of things. Back home there were always others, other people, who were trained to deal with them, to provide you with guidance if something like this happened. Back home you weren't required to go it alone.  
  
This brought tears to her.  
  
Alone.  
  
For John had turned away. There was no comfort in his arms even now, when he held her. He had turned away and she knew it was because he blamed himself, because he had failed to do what he felt a father must do.  
  
Protect your child.  
  
How long? How long do you wait before you do those things you must, before you close this chapter, before you honor your child who has ....  
  
She couldn't say it.  
  
But Maureen Robinson was a strong woman. Somewhere deep inside, she knew this truth, knew now that it would have to be her who brought them together, knew it would have to be her who did what must be done.  
  
We have to go on.  
  
We have to let go.  
  
#  
  
They came out to the spot in the Chariot, riding silently. They had dressed in their finest clothes, the six of them, and when they arrived they stopped and filed out and stood for a moment by the giant, fallen slab. Then the Robot came out of the rear of the Chariot and rolled to a spot before them. It carried a large stone, which it set into place beside the fallen slab.  
  
They stood silently before it for a time. Then one spoke a few words, then another. These words were difficult for them, because they were remembering, because each of them was trying to tell the others something good that they remembered about her. They had agreed that this should be so, that she deserved to have good memories told at this time, at this last honor.  
  
But it was hard.  
  
At last they turned, one by one, and stepped back to the Chariot, climbing aboard and strapping into their seats. They were silent again as they drove back to the Jupiter II, as behind them the newly erected stone slowly threw a lengthening shadow across the ground as morning turned into afternoon. And as it grew later the inscription carved there became dim in the fading light.  
  
#  
Penny Roberta Robinson  
September 9, 1985 to April 23, 2004  
Beloved Daughter, Beloved Sister, Beloved Friend 


	17. Darkness

Darkness  
* * *  
  
Darkness.  
  
All around you it is, an inky black, penetrated by nothing, so thick you can almost feel it against yourself. Eyes open or eyes closed, it does not matter.  
  
Darkness. Like the womb, like the moment before creation, like an infinite nothing.  
  
And with it silence. Utter, complete, absolute. So complete, this darkness and this silence, that you wonder now if you exist at all.  
  
Perhaps.  
  
But how to tell?  
  
You do not know. But with this question, memory comes.  
  
You remember. You remember you remember you remember. Brief flashes at first, visions in the complete darkness, visions that are memories. And identities come with the memories, questions of who and what being posed and answered.  
  
There, over there, brief flashes of light. Not there in the darkness, but there in your mind. Memories of them, of light playing over stone, over walls of stone, over broken, shattered rocks. Then, voices with the lights, familiar voices.  
  
You remember being afraid. Odd now, how distant that seems, wrapped in the darkness. Like another place, another person, far, far away.  
  
Afraid.  
  
You remember now also the sight of them. Two lights, playing over the rocky walls. One, bright, falling on you. Hearing them, hearing your name, hearing yourself call out. And then, not so far over there, you remember seeing him, the familiar look of him, remember seeing him on the narrow ledge, coming toward you.  
  
Falling, leaping.  
  
You remember.  
  
Darkness then.  
  
Darkness now, in the silence of where you are. 


	18. Me

Me  
  
* * *  
  
In time, she came to awareness. There was no sense of it, no real sense of herself or who or what she was. But she was; she did exist. This was a fact self evident by her existing, and by the slow but growing awareness that there was a her, that it was a her, that she was familiar with her herness, with her being a her.  
  
I am me.  
  
She ached. There was pain in her wrists, her ankles. They were part of her herness, of her being. She found with much effort that she could move them, that in the inky darkness of her own closed eyelids she could rub one sore wrist with her hand, with her fingers. There was some pain in this, but in it also there was some relief.  
  
She was lying on her side, her knees drawn up, her position fetal. It was hard where she lay, yet giving, and in time she had a word for this surface.  
  
Sand.  
  
She opened her eyes.  
  
Only one, the left, obeyed.  
  
She brought her hand to her face, felt the pain there, the swelling of a deep bruise, the dried blood that had sealed her right eye.  
  
With a groan she pushed herself up. A spasm of pain shot through her side.  
  
Ribs. Probably broken.  
  
Not dead.  
  
This came slowly; there was a dim glow where she was, and she fought the confusion. I was sitting on a rock above the valley. They took me. I awakened and it was dark and it hurt.  
  
Is that time, that memory, now?  
  
It was hard to remember, hard to make things clear in her head.  
  
No. There was more. There were the things, dark, with three red eyes.  
  
Like the one watching her now.  
  
"You live," it said.  
  
She stared back with her single working eye. And then it came to her.  
  
Dad. Falling, leaping. And something hard, hard and sharp, striking her on the forehead, the sharp pain of it making her gasp in the sudden roar. The cave around her crumbling as she cried out to him, crumbling with a growing roar that was only more terror in the sudden darkness.  
  
Did he make it?  
  
The thing still watched her.  
  
Claws, many claws, gripping her. Lifting her. A sense of motion as bits of falling rock fell on her, a sudden spasm of pain as something hit her side. Motion downwards in the roar, in the fear, in her own helplessness, motion as the roar quieted and then was suddenly gone with a sharp pain in her skull.  
  
And now here, in the stillness and the gloom, the thing, just there, staring.  
  
"You live," it said again.  
  
This was, she supposed, a good thing. In theory, at least, life was better than death.  
  
Death. Did Dad make it?  
  
Had this thing, by kidnapping her, killed her father?  
  
Penny Robinson reached for a stone, felt her fingers close about one, tried to raise it to throw at the thing.  
  
And failed. Her side spasmed and the air went out of her lungs.  
  
But the thing, sensing what she intended, backed away.  
  
"You would hurt us again?" it asked.  
  
"Shut up," she growled through the pain. "Just shut up."  
  
The stone fell from her fingers.  
  
#  
  
For a time the thing just sat, just watched her. It was hard to stay sitting, so finally Penny lowered herself to the sand again, resting on her uninjured side.  
  
"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked finally.  
  
It moved a bit closer.  
  
"It is the balance," it said. "You have injured us, and we injure you."  
  
"You're killing me," she said.  
  
It moved its head, the three eyes still tracking in her.  
  
"No. You are only injured. We allowed to you escape, because of the balance."  
  
She fought confusion.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"We allowed you to escape. It is the balance. You have injured us, and we injure you. If we die, then you must die."  
  
"I don't understand," she said softly. "Please help me understand why I have to die."  
  
It watched her silently. When it spoke its tone had changed.  
  
"You carry a weapon, you deal death with such enthusiasm, and yet you are not willing to pay the price of death? What savagery you have!"  
  
"I didn't kill anything!" she cried.  
  
"No. We were fortunate. You only injured. But you meant to kill. You have no place for protest."  
  
Penny moaned, the exertion of sitting up beginning to show. But an anger, slow in coming but now here, kept her focused.  
  
"I have no place for protest? You talk, that's all. You kidnapped me and brought me here and now you talk. But you know, I don't believe you. You're lying. You aren't hurt at all."  
  
The thing hissed and she could sense its anger. And then it lept at her, the force of its impact pushing her back against the cavern wall. She cried out in pain, went to her side again.  
  
"You see?" she said. "Who is the savage, you or I? Don't waste my time anymore; if you're going to kill me, then just do it."  
  
#  
  
It didn't answer, not for a long time, and Penny lay unmoving, watching it. At last it came forward, its red eyes on her, watching close. When it spoke the hiss was gone.  
  
"You do not believe we suffer?"  
  
"You look perfectly all right to me," she growled.  
  
"Follow, then," it said, and it moved away. 


	19. Spaceship

Spaceship  
  
* * *  
  
She hesitated, and it paused, looking back at her. Her body ached and she wondered if she would be able to move. But the thing was patient, and in time Penny struggled to her feet, wincing at the pain of standing, steadying herself against the cavern wall. The thing moved on then, into a short passage, and she followed.  
  
It grew brighter as she moved, though it was still dim and several times she bumped her toes against the rocks that lay scattered over the uneven floor of the cavern. They passed several openings and she realized that save for the thing to follow, she would have long ago lost her way. But it was patient as she moved, always keeping ahead but never moving too fast. She could feel moisture in the air, on her skin, thick as it made the dust sticky against her. The walls became slick and it was harder to keep her footing.  
  
The thing stopped, looked back at her. Then it turned ahead again, and the passage opened into a another room. Penny halted, blinking.  
  
The room was too large to make out the entirety of it in the dim light. But there were others like the thing there, moving about, scurrying around the large shape that dominated the center of the chamber. It was a shape that was, though alien, still familiar, for Penny had, in her years in space, become accustomed to such things.  
  
A spaceship.  
  
#  
  
The creature was moving down now, over the jumble of rocks that led to the floor of the cavern. It turned to her and watched her, its voice sounding just a bit different here.  
  
"Come," it said.  
  
Penny did, picking her way carefully through the stones. Twice she slipped, once falling, spasms of pain shooting up her side as she did, sending the air from her lungs in a rush. But at last she stood on the floor of the great room, her eyes again on the creature and the spaceship behind it.  
  
And she saw then, as a large section of the ship went transparent.  
  
"Come, then," the thing said. "See what you have done."  
  
She made it to the side of the ship, looked within.  
  
And she gasped.  
  
#  
  
It was another, a creature identical to the one that had brought her here. But this one, Penny saw right away, was far from well. It lay on a table, unmoving, a long burn across its belly.  
  
A familiar sort of burn. She remembered, long ago, sitting in the chariot, passing the fallen form of the giant cyclops after Dad had shot it down. There had been a burn like this on that creature too, long and straight, cutting flesh.  
  
A laser burn.  
  
"Oh, God," she moaned. Her knees went weak and she had to settle to the floor of the cavern.  
  
The creature with her was silent now, watching its fellow. And as she watched too, Penny saw that there was more than just the burn on the thing inside the spaceship. Around the burn it was white, wet, this contrasting sharply with its black skin. She spoke softly then.  
  
"Infection?"  
  
The creature beside her looked at her.  
  
"Yes. We die, slowly. You have killed us." 


	20. That Night Long Ago

That Night Long Ago  
  
Life continued, even in the agony of grief. There were a few good things to consider, beginning with the rich find of deutronium, which was larger than they had ever found before and which should be enough to run the Jupiter II for at least a year. As well, the ship was in good shape and a launch window was coming up. There were other repairs, of course, and these were tended to mechanically by the Robinsons and Major West and even Dr. Smith, who since Penny's memorial had been quiet and even cooperative. It had hit him hard, her death, so hard that even Don was heard to remark to Judy that he was moved by the older man's sentiments.  
  
John sat now, outside the main hatch, reclined in a chair with Maureen. It was night, the sky overhead brilliant with stars, with the white haze of the galaxy. His arm was around her and she was pressed close against him. Neither had spoken since they had lain down.  
  
It occurred to John as they sat that it hadn't been all that different, all those years ago. Judy would have been young, and probably asleep in bed in the other room, surrounded by her toys and dolls, and he and Maureen would have been lying together just like this. Sometime in December, and it would have been cool, and they would have each sought the warmth of the other.  
  
His hand moved, caressed her. She moved slightly; he could feel her breasts, even through her clothes and his, against him. They would have been bare, that night so long ago, and he would have touched them and kissed them as she threw back her head in the pleasure of it.  
  
And they would have touched, intimately, and made love.  
  
He had heard once that some women knew when conception occurred, knew it down to the second. Had Maureen?  
  
Had she known when Penny began?  
  
John closed his eyes, the pleasant memory replaced suddenly with the raw agony of now. He remembered the cave, the roar of falling rock, that instant he had to decide between life and death.  
  
His life, her death.  
  
"I wish...." he said softly.  
  
Maureen, as always before, knew what he was thinking.  
  
"No, John. It wasn't your fault. You tried."  
  
"Not hard enough."  
  
Maureen raised her head, looked at him in the gloom. And she said nothing to him, because there were no words for this. And for a time John Robinson tried to hold back the tears, tried to be strong as he had always thought himself to be, but he could not.  
  
And Maureen was there to hold him as he wept.  
  
It was she who saw the telltale streak of light across the sky that indicated a spaceship coming down. 


End file.
